


Hell Has a Superior Benefits Package

by divisionten



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Wing Grooming, crowley and aziraphale's episode 6 shenanigans get found out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 10:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20993648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divisionten/pseuds/divisionten
Summary: He’d long since stopped waiting for Crowley to answer his door- the demon was equally likely to be out on a joyride, blasting Queen at maximum volume while watering his indoor Eden, or sleeping so soundly he put the dead to shame.This time, he entered the flat to none of those things, very nearly dropping the food and wine.“Beelzebub, er, your Lordship?” Aziraphale asked, squeaking.What could they possibly be doing in Crowley's flat?





	Hell Has a Superior Benefits Package

Aziraphale clutched the bottle of wine and bag of takeout Indian, carefully juggling all his packages into his left hand as he knocked four times on Crowley’s apartment door before turning the handle. He’d long since stopped waiting for Crowley to answer- the demon was equally likely to be out on a joyride, blasting Queen at maximum volume while watering his indoor Eden, or sleeping so soundly he put the dead to shame. So he’d let himself in, and, should Crowley be in any of those states he’d either wait politely with a paperback, sit primly in a wicker chair in the arboretum with an upturned smile, or carefully run well-tended hands through Crowley’s hair until he blinked awake, respectively.

This time, he entered the flat to none of those things, very nearly dropping the food and wine.

“Beelzebub, er, your Lordship?” Aziraphale asked, squeaking, as he miracled the items to the counter on the other side of the flat in Crowley’s state of the art kitchen. He wasn’t moving further into the flat until he knew it was safe to do so, but he also wasn’t going to drop the wine bottle for it to shatter on his best friend’s perfectly pristine floor.

Beelzebub was in a state Aziraphale had never seen them in before- giant ash-grey wings spread wide with their flies not buzzing wildly about their head but nestled in their hair, unmoving.

Beelzebub raised their head ever so slightly, opening one eye to look over at the angel, before Crowley’s own head popped up from behind the further wing.

Aziraphale blinked, reassessing the situation. Beelzebub was lying on some sort of cushioned fold-out table, something not initially noticed due to shock and their leading wing blocking view of the metal legs and most everything else, and Crowley had an odd claw like device fitted over his right hand’s middle and pointer fingers with a spray bottle- the same kind he used on his plants but in purple rather than green- in his left.

Aziraphale would have laughed, were it an angel on that table, but he merely coughed once and backed for the door.

“You are aware of the concept of prideful respect, right, Ziraphale?” Crowley asked, an uptick in his voice as he threw a glance at the demon lying down below him with his whole upper body, since his sunglasses were firmly on his face.

“I… cannot say I’m familiar, no,” Aziraphale replied honestly. “But I do you no harm.”

Beelzebub opened an eye again, glaring before fully relaxing, forcefully flapping their wings once to send a flurry of grey feathers up in a miniature tornado.

Crowley shrugged with a wry smile. “Stopped going back to Hell since that kangaroo court, but I’m still the best there is at preening so someone couldn’t stay away.”

“Demons… preen other demons?” Aziraphale asked. He didn’t want to add that he’d seen what hell was like, it was hard enough picturing them trusting one another to turn their- oh. **_Pride_**. The sin of pride was likely enough of a reason to have some sort of parley system in place.

“Attacking someone preening or being preened is grounds for every demon nearby to rip you to shreds. Slowly and painfully,” Beelzebub commented, in their usual boorish and bored tone. “Crowley assured me that even you angelic lot upheld it.”

Aziraphale blinked owlishly. “We preen in private. I’ve never had anything like…” he trailed off, spreading out his arms.

Crowley nearly dropped the spray bottle. “That was one of like the only good things I remember about up there,” he said quietly. “Michael doing up my wings after a flight.”

Now Aziraphale did actually laugh, choking on spit before he realized he didn’t need to breathe. “I can’t imagine him doing anything other than calling you down to his office for not signing a requisition form in triplicate.”

This gave even Beelzebub pause. “Guess they stopped trusting each other after the war. Don’t blame them.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, face rounded as the realization hit him. He was younger than the two of them, Heaven didn’t need warrior angels until there was, well, a war. And Crowley and Beelzebub had to have been in heaven for the pre-eternity before the pre-eternity Aziraphale had been born to. Still before the concept of time, but further back, if such a thing could exist.

Aziraphale couldn’t even comprehend what heaven must have been originally like. He didn’t even realize there had been such a thing before he exploded into existence himself. Without time, there wasn’t a concept of Before.

“Sometimes I forget that despite being the same age, you’re far far older than I, Crowley. No, angels don’t preen each other. But I will respect your parley.”

“It’s not a parley,” Beelzebub mumbled, letting out a long sigh as Crowley rolled his eyes so loudly that even Aziraphale knew he was doing it behind his shades.

“It’s totally a parley, Beelz,”

“A parley implies talking. I prefer this done in **_silence_**. Something we were doing before your boyfriend’s rude entrance.”

“I’m not…”

“He’s not…”

“You**_are_**,” Beelzebub insisted, before putting their head back down and wigging their shoulders to adjust their position.

“I can… come back later,” Aziraphale said meekly. “Unless you need assistance I feel as though I’m intruding.”

“You rough with your own feathers?” Crowley asked, brow raised.

“No?” Aziraphale answered with a half question.

“Get the other wing then. The only thing more hedonistic than getting your wings all perfect is having multiple demons doing it for you at once. Two hands feels good. For our more is straight up sinful.”

“I…” Aziraphale yelped. Beelzebub was the one who’d ordered Crowley- or “Crowley” as the case may have actually been- to be subsumed by holy water, and here they were, completely trusting the demon they’d personally sent to the gallows to preen them? In an area where there clearly weren’t any demons to rip Crowley to shreds should he step out of line?

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if this was an act of trust or an act of proving some sort of supremacy to Crowley. Maybe it was both. Nothing screamed louder than “you will not destroy me in an area where you can’t be retaliated and I know it” than doing what Beelzebub was now. Doubly so with an angel there, kicked out of heaven or otherwise.

“I can assist, so long as their Lordship doesn’t mind.” Crowley might be on a first name basis with his former boss, but Aziraphale had at least some sense of standards.

Beelzebub didn’t reply, just stretched the wing Crowley wasn’t working on a bit farther out. Aziraphale took it gingerly at the elbow joint. “I start from the primaries and work my way inward. Do you have a preference?”

“Just don’t pull a feather unless it’s completely useless. Imp anything that’s fraying.”

Aziraphale looked at a second small table- the kind usually used by dentists, not that he’d ever needed to visit one. A bundle of grey feathers of varying sizes were tied up with packing string, along with some wooden shafts and superglue.

“Hellhounds rip feathers,” was all Crowley explained as Aziraphale looked at the wing in front of him. And indeed, there were a lot of torn feathers, especially the largest primaries. Crowley passed him a silver preening claw, which he affixed on his right hand like Crowley had done, and began the process of combing, cleaning, and fixing.

* * *

Aziraphale never really enjoyed preening himself, which is why he didn’t do it often. It was a need, not a want. It didn’t **_hurt_**, but it felt like a waste of time.

Maybe because they weren’t really supposed to be doing it to themselves. Beelzebub slowly drooped, practically melting into a puddle under Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s hands, more so when it was clear that Crowley had finished the more required aspects of preening and began to move on to optional ones- scratching the patagium of the wing before walking partway around to give the Lord of Hell a damned shoulder massage without getting in Aziraphale’s way.

“Can’t get the other side of Beelz’s wings till you finish, Angel,” Crowley chided.

Aziraphale wanted to mention that Beelzebub’s wings were plenty large enough for the two of them to divide and conquer the rest, but he recognized the tone after millennia. It was the demon’s way of asking for something without admitting it, even if it was on behalf of his demon executioner.

“Yes, quite,” Aziraphale said, offhandedly. “Mind, it’s the first time I’m doing up someone else’s feathers. I don’t have the practice you do. I might be a bit slow.”

Another long silence followed, until Aziraphale could swear he heard Beelzebub’s swarm’s buzzing even sound content.

“I do believe your backside is up to snuff.”

“For me to decide,” Beelzebub droned, though they did tuck their wings in, tilting back to kneel on the massage table to look and flex out their wings before doing an easy roll to lay face up, stretching their wingspan for the inner side of their wings.

Crowley grabbed for the alula, and Aziraphale followed suit, Beelzebub’s thumb-claw grasping around his wrist without force. Aziraphale picked up his pace, trying to do the same section as Crowley at the same time. When he finally had to reach an area along the upper edge that required him pulling his wrist away from their bastard claw, Beelzebub’s flies made a sound one might almost mistake for a whine.

“Am I doing all right?”

“You’re not shit, that’s all,” Beelzebub responded, not even bothering to open their eyes.

* * *

“Done, Beelz. You can stay and have wine, otherwise get the hell out of my house.” There was surprisingly not a shred of malice to Crowley’s order, it was more a statement of fact than anything meant as an insult.

“The angel helped. I’m obliged,” Beelzebub replied, eyes narrowed, as they sat up and blinked the dazed relaxation from their eyes.

Aziraphale wrung his hands. That’s why Crowley suggested he assist. So that not one, but two demons would pamper him in return.

He owed Crowley a full day preen if Beelzebub’s blissed out reaction was anything to go by.

“That’s entirely unnecessary,” Aziraphale responded in weak, token protest. “I can’t be getting tempted by a cabal of wily demons.”

“Awwwww angel,” Crowley said. “Since when is two a cabal? And it’s just a spot of pride, ‘s all it is. Nothing existence shattering.”

“But!” Aziraphale stuttered as Beelzebub pressed on his shoulder, pushing him back until he was sitting on the massage table himself. It was powerful, but not painful or forceful.

“Come now, we could always use another agent of sloth and gluttony,” Beelzebub intoned.

“At- at least let me remove my jacket and shoes!”

“Trying my patience,” Beelzebub growled.

Aziraphale yelped as Crowley reached around, and disguised as peeling the outerwear off of him, gave him a squeeze of a hug. “Come on, prideful respect,” Crowley said.

It was meant as a reminder of reassurance but all it brought to Aziraphale’s mind was the surprising notion that Beelzebub, lord of the damned, was now obligated to be his massage therapist.

Aziraphale took a sharp inhale, bent over, and took off his shoes the mortal way before laying on his stomach and letting his own wings unfurl.

A hand gently and reverently ran fingers down his flight feathers. Angels, like birds, didn’t have nerves in their feathers but they could still feel them being touched in the same way humans could feel when someone played with their hair. Aziraphale rolled and relaxed his shoulders when a second larger set of hands, slightly more roughly did the same on the other side.

Both felt good, but Aziraphale was surprised to realize the gentler, almost loving first set of hands had to have been Beelzebub’s, not Crowley’s.

Oh, this is heavenly, Aziraphale wanted to say aloud, though he knew the sentiment wasn’t shared even if angels had done this sort of thing to each other, once. Instead, he tried to appeal to their vanity.

“Ohhhhh,” he groaned out, pleased, realizing just a moment too late it sounded like a human during intercourse. The release he felt might not have been much different, he was absolutely already seeing stars and they’d barely started.

Crowley made a pained noise, like a goose being strangled. “Zira!” he managed to squawk. “That’s filthy.”

“We’re adding in lust and sloth all at once,” Beelzebub said in that voice that was practically always shouting, at even a whisper’s volume level. “Make a proper demon of you yet.”

Beelzebub gently squeezed his wing in a way that was better than any massage. They absolutely knew what they were doing, and Aziraphale let out another undignified groan of pleasure.

“You were pretty convincing during Crowley’s sentencing a few months ago, after all. Not many people can order Michael around and get away with it,” Beelzebub added.

Aziraphale froze and snapped his wings in. Or tried to. Both Crowley and Beelzebub gently but firmly held on to the one they were working on.

After a moment of panic, Aziraphale relaxed. They were still under parley, and Crowley was there with him.

“You knew.”

“I had my suspicions, nothing more. Not until I confirmed this afternoon with my former employee.”

“You came here to finish the job, didn’t you?”

Beelzebub hummed in disapproval. “No. I came to offer a promotion.”

“You tried to kill him!” Aziraphale practically shouted. Crowley petted his wing until he calmed.

It was Crowley who spoke next, not Beelzebub, to Aziraphale’s surprise.

“The difference between what you told me about my execution and what I know from yours,” Crowley started, gently rubbing circles until Aziraphale stilled and he could get back to taking care of him, “was that the angels were out to get you. Personally. Hell was trying to make a public example of a traitor. Heaven was straight up going to murder you and dump the whole thing under the rug. If that blasted place had enough personality to have rugs.”

“You forgave them,” Aziraphale said with dawning realization. “You forgave Beelzebub I mean. Not the angels.”

“The angels can rot in a place worse than hell,” Crowley growled. “Gabriel especially.”

Beelzebub laughed. “He’s worse than most of my men. Don’t know why he hasn’t just come down himself, he’d be incredible upper-lower management.”

“You forgave Beelzebub,” Aziraphale repeated, stunned, as the very demon gave him scritches he didn’t know he desperately needed, eliciting another scandalous groan. “Oh, dear me, this is **_positively_**sinful.”

“Better benefits package,” Crowley joked. “Still, guess I can’t be too surprised your- erm, the **_upstairs_**\- lot stopped doing this.

“So what now? Blackmail? Is that what this is about?”

“I’m not that base, angel. If I wanted to share this information, all of Hell would know already. I have no intention of blackmailing your boyfriend over that. I just wanted to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I don’t enjoy my authority undermined. And trust me, if I wanted blackmail material I’d only need you captured. Your little serpent would crawl on his stomach for you.”

“Ngrk.”

“My dear boy, Their Lordship is telling the truth, because I would do the same and I can’t even slither like you.”

“Angel you’re going to discorporate me at this rate.”

“That was the other half of things, actually,” Beelzebub said thoughtfully. “I’m offering a… change in careers as it were. Should you discorporate, I might be able to smuggle you out a new vessel. I know heaven won’t be so… accommodating.”

“I’m sure you want a trade,” Aziraphale said snippily. “I’ll listen to the terms when you’re done. You’re right this isn’t parley. I don’t really like talking like this.”

“Demanding, are we? Very well, when you’re done.”

* * *

It was like waking from a dream, if he’d ever had one, when Azirapahle finally, slowly, lifted himself off the table. It wasn’t just sinful, but **_divine_**.

“Angel, tone down the halo,” Crowley said, as Aziraphale gave his wings a good stretch and shook the dazed feeling out.

Oh. He actually was glowing. And not just metaphorically.

Beelzebub looked smug with themselves, their own slate grey wings trailing behind like a cape, no less shimmering than Aziraphale’s. Crowley flexed his own shoulders and his pair of ebony wings settled on his back, gleaming in a way Aziraphale hadn’t seen in the last month or more. Beelzebub must have preened him earlier and talked with him about their body swap. The three of them looked magnificent, other than Aziraphale’s wisp of bed-head from Crowley’s scalp ministrations while Beelzebub finished his alula.

“Wine!” Crowley insisted, clapping his hands together.

“Ah, yes, and dinner,” Aziraphale insisted. “I left it out on the counter but I know it’ll all be the right temperature. I’d be very cross if it weren’t.”

Beelzebub made a bit of a face, one that Aziraphale often saw on Gabriel when the subject of food came up.

“Gluttony, right Beelz?” Crowley asked. “You did get paneer, right, angel?”

“Oh, my, yes.” Aziraphale originally had no intention of sharing, but he’d make an exception. Once. And only once.

Beelzebub would need to get their own dishes next time.

* * *

And there was a next time. And a next. And more after that as the Lord of Hell became just a bit more comfortable with coming topside, first under the pretense of understanding humanity to issue some new agents on the surface, and eventually just because they were a Lord and nobody was going to snapping at them otherwise.

There were many more dinners and preenings and long drunken conversations late into the night (or early in the morning, depending on opinions).

And eventually, when Aziraphale leaned over an ancient desk covered in fly corpses to sign away his name, to be immediately hauled off by three demons, he knew exactly what to invoke to get them- as well as a (not actually disinterested) Beelzebub and Crowley to run after them to gently massage out his aching, blackening wings.

Heaven may have forsaken them, but hell did have a better benefits package, anyway.


End file.
